Charlemagne "Sharky" Victor Boshaw (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
broshaw) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
come_sailaway2022-06-23 01:25 am
broshaw) wrote in come_sailaway2022-06-23 01:25 am
[open] posessed by the spirit of margaritaville
Who: Sharky Boshaw & YOU!
When: June, post-camping trip!
Where: All over the promenade, or dealer's choice!
Summary: Sobriety was nice while it lasted, but Sharky never wants to walk a straight line again. He's got marshmallows to share, drinks to try, and hopefully, he'll get back to his room in one piece.
Warnings: Check his permissions for general warnings; alcoholism is going to feature pretty prominently here, he'll probably throw up at some point and there's a 50/50 chance he's getting naked at least once.
Notes: These prompts supply a pattern of how he's spending the majority of his time, which means yes, he does wind up black-out drunk in the atrium more than once... (I'll match tagging styles!)
[euphoria] day-drinking on the promenade
[The camping trip hadn't been bad, or anything, but Sharky is more than happy to be back on the ship. More specifically, he's stoked to be back in a place with infinite alcohol; the dry camp situation had proven... fucking rough, if we're being honest. He's never signing up for anything again -- at least not until he can confirm there will at least be beer at the destination. (Much like a feral cat that's gotten accustomed to living under the roof of a lonely MILF, Sharky has gone soft, quick. Not that you'll hear him complain!)
Some parts of the trip were okay, though! Like, there was fire. And there were cool people to hang with, shenanigans to be had, and best of all: new clothes! He's got three pairs of jean shorts now, plus a sick Florida shirt. (The USC one, he can take or leave. Who gives a shit about college, man!) He also came back with two bags of marshmallows shoved in his backpack like contraband.
During the day, Sharky can be found meandering between the shops on the promenade, usually with a complicated-looking drink in hand. He's got his ship-branded tote, but this time his water bottle is full of actual water (which he is drinking, thank you), and he's got a bag of marshmallows with him. For snacking, obviously! He's feeling just one drink shy of tipsy, which means he's in a sharing mood. If he didn't see you at the camp, he'll immediately single you out and ask:]
Hey! You wanna marshmallow?
[excitement] regular drinking at hurikane
[Ahhhh, that's fuckin' better. Sharky is well and truly in it to win it now, having booted and rallied once already before getting an early dinner and starting up with his new pastime: trying weird fucking drinks from Hurikane. It's like he can say any combination of words and the ghostly bartender (named Brad) will make something for him to drink. He's been here for a bit now, and there are a variety of glasses on the counter in front of him. Noticeably enough, he still has his trusty water bottle, although it's a little too full for a guy who's turning the bar into a Baskin Robbins.
If you walk into Hurikane while he's there, regardless of whether or not he recognizes you, he will lift his drink and immediately shout,] Heeeeeeeey! [-- Not even because he wants to talk! He just knows how fucking radical it is to walk into a bar and have someone acknowledge your presence and wants to share that with you. Of course, if you look even remotely interested in what he's drinking, he will loudly shout the name out, no matter how horrific it is. It's clear by the way he moves that he is very much drunk, and from the grin on his face, that's just the way he likes it.]
[confusion] maybe it's time to stop at the atrium lounge
[Ooooooooh okay, that was no bueno.
It's late at night and Sharky is Fucked Up with a capital F-U. He makes it from deck five to the atrium, easily distinguishable from the sober crowd by the way he staggers and sways along the halls. He almost throws up in the elevator, which is why he stops off at the atrium, collapsing into one of the many chairs scattered around the perimeter. Unfortunately, his water is long gone and forgotten about. He'd thought he'd been pacing himself, really fuckin' had, but now the world is doing that uneasy swirly tilt all around him and if he looks at anything for too long, he starts to feel like his insides are going to fall out via his mouth.
He actually has no idea how he managed to get from Hurikane to the atrium. He's not sure how he's supposed to get from this extremely comfortable and solid chair all the way back to his cabin. And he knows he can't do it without throwing the fuck up, which would just suck because he had all those delicious little finger sandwiches a couple of hours ago and he would like to not toss those up. He's so busy trying to just focus on his breathing and not feeling like shit that he doesn't notice if anyone happens to come up around him. Honestly, he probably looks like he's sleeping, anyway...]
[wildcard] dealer's choice
[Put your character somewhere and a drunken Sharky will accost them! (Message me if you'd like, or surprise me!)]
When: June, post-camping trip!
Where: All over the promenade, or dealer's choice!
Summary: Sobriety was nice while it lasted, but Sharky never wants to walk a straight line again. He's got marshmallows to share, drinks to try, and hopefully, he'll get back to his room in one piece.
Warnings: Check his permissions for general warnings; alcoholism is going to feature pretty prominently here, he'll probably throw up at some point and there's a 50/50 chance he's getting naked at least once.
Notes: These prompts supply a pattern of how he's spending the majority of his time, which means yes, he does wind up black-out drunk in the atrium more than once... (I'll match tagging styles!)
[euphoria] day-drinking on the promenade
[The camping trip hadn't been bad, or anything, but Sharky is more than happy to be back on the ship. More specifically, he's stoked to be back in a place with infinite alcohol; the dry camp situation had proven... fucking rough, if we're being honest. He's never signing up for anything again -- at least not until he can confirm there will at least be beer at the destination. (Much like a feral cat that's gotten accustomed to living under the roof of a lonely MILF, Sharky has gone soft, quick. Not that you'll hear him complain!)
Some parts of the trip were okay, though! Like, there was fire. And there were cool people to hang with, shenanigans to be had, and best of all: new clothes! He's got three pairs of jean shorts now, plus a sick Florida shirt. (The USC one, he can take or leave. Who gives a shit about college, man!) He also came back with two bags of marshmallows shoved in his backpack like contraband.
During the day, Sharky can be found meandering between the shops on the promenade, usually with a complicated-looking drink in hand. He's got his ship-branded tote, but this time his water bottle is full of actual water (which he is drinking, thank you), and he's got a bag of marshmallows with him. For snacking, obviously! He's feeling just one drink shy of tipsy, which means he's in a sharing mood. If he didn't see you at the camp, he'll immediately single you out and ask:]
Hey! You wanna marshmallow?
[excitement] regular drinking at hurikane
[Ahhhh, that's fuckin' better. Sharky is well and truly in it to win it now, having booted and rallied once already before getting an early dinner and starting up with his new pastime: trying weird fucking drinks from Hurikane. It's like he can say any combination of words and the ghostly bartender (named Brad) will make something for him to drink. He's been here for a bit now, and there are a variety of glasses on the counter in front of him. Noticeably enough, he still has his trusty water bottle, although it's a little too full for a guy who's turning the bar into a Baskin Robbins.
If you walk into Hurikane while he's there, regardless of whether or not he recognizes you, he will lift his drink and immediately shout,] Heeeeeeeey! [-- Not even because he wants to talk! He just knows how fucking radical it is to walk into a bar and have someone acknowledge your presence and wants to share that with you. Of course, if you look even remotely interested in what he's drinking, he will loudly shout the name out, no matter how horrific it is. It's clear by the way he moves that he is very much drunk, and from the grin on his face, that's just the way he likes it.]
[confusion] maybe it's time to stop at the atrium lounge
[Ooooooooh okay, that was no bueno.
It's late at night and Sharky is Fucked Up with a capital F-U. He makes it from deck five to the atrium, easily distinguishable from the sober crowd by the way he staggers and sways along the halls. He almost throws up in the elevator, which is why he stops off at the atrium, collapsing into one of the many chairs scattered around the perimeter. Unfortunately, his water is long gone and forgotten about. He'd thought he'd been pacing himself, really fuckin' had, but now the world is doing that uneasy swirly tilt all around him and if he looks at anything for too long, he starts to feel like his insides are going to fall out via his mouth.
He actually has no idea how he managed to get from Hurikane to the atrium. He's not sure how he's supposed to get from this extremely comfortable and solid chair all the way back to his cabin. And he knows he can't do it without throwing the fuck up, which would just suck because he had all those delicious little finger sandwiches a couple of hours ago and he would like to not toss those up. He's so busy trying to just focus on his breathing and not feeling like shit that he doesn't notice if anyone happens to come up around him. Honestly, he probably looks like he's sleeping, anyway...]
[wildcard] dealer's choice
[Put your character somewhere and a drunken Sharky will accost them! (Message me if you'd like, or surprise me!)]
no subject
He sighs. If Sharky were properly his patient he might come down on him a little harder, but he isn't, so he can't. Not really.
"I realise we have a great deal of very fine spirit here to sample, but you needn't try to drink it all at once."
no subject
But he's aware of how close he'll get now, thanks to the camping excursion. And that makes him worry, you know... What if the magical Willy Wonka-style distillery in the belly of the ship burns down because of a drunk ghost or something? They would be totally fucked if that happened. Not only because the massive structural damage would probably sink them super fast, but like, there would be no more liquor of any kind!
"Y'never know when it's all gonna disappear, man," he says. "But yeahhhh, I guess 'm tappin' out. Laaaame." He sighs heavily as they reach his room, using his forehead to prop himself up against the door as he pats down his pockets for his key. At least he seems... aware... of his situation. "Used t'be sooooo much better at this. Hate bein' old..."
no subject
Watson sighs a little. "You may not even remember this conversation in the morning, my friend, but I have seen very good men fall prey to this sort of vice. Please do take care of yourself."
no subject
"Yeah," he says, turning his attention back to his door-unlocking, "'M gonna dial it back. Just, uhhh. Yeah. Thanks for makin' sure I, y'know, got back." AWKWARD....
no subject
"Well. Try to sleep it off, at least. If you need help, don't hesitate to call me. I'm just down in 102, anyway. I doubt I'll be far."
no subject
"102? Cool cool cool. 'M gonna be fine. But good!" Maybe! He thinks. Anyway, he wants the doctor to think that.... "Oookay, gonna go throw up now."
As he gives a thumbs-up, like, yeah, that's a totally normal sign-off for him.
no subject
Rather cautiously, he turns to walk away, though he glances behind him as he goes, as though afraid to let Sharky out of his sight, just in case he dies.
no subject
One thing is for sure, though: Watson did everything he could. If Sharky's going to die of alcohol poisoning tonight, that's between him and whoever would be in charge of something like that.